Armageddon (30 page)

“He doesn’t look so good,” Gabriel commented.

“It’s a lot of work to be responsible for the power of God,” Dusty explained. “But his sacrifice will be well worth it.”

“His sacrifice?”

But Gabriel’s question would remain unanswered, as the trio suddenly found themselves surrounded.

The trench-coat-wearing individuals seemed to appear out of nowhere, and Gabriel was startled to see that they had metal, not feathers, on their wings.

The dog sniffed the air as the strangers stalked closer to them. There was no doubt about it; they were angels, but they were unlike any angels he had ever encountered.

“What should we do?” Gabriel asked. He could feel the power of Heaven roused in his body.

“Nothing,” Dusty replied. “This is who we’ve been waiting for.”

The strange angels seemed to be transfixed by Mallus, who appeared to be having some difficulty keeping the power that he held in line.

Dusty stepped forward, distracting the angels, whose wings came to life in a defensive stance.

“We mean no harm,” he said calmly, raising his hands in surrender. As his sweatshirt sleeves fell back toward his elbows, Gabriel noticed that his friend’s skin had taken on an almost gray shade, as if the fragments of metal trapped below its surface had begun to expand.

“We’ve come to make a delivery,” Dusty added, turning his gaze once more on Mallus and his powerful prize.

*   *   *

Aaron didn’t want to go back to his room.

“You’re practically falling down,” Vilma argued.

“I’m fine,” Aaron protested.

“Maybe he’ll listen to you,” Vilma said to Taylor.

“Aaron, you heard Levi,” his mother began. “You won’t be doing anybody any good until you’re fully healed.”

“Any way of knowing what set off the alarms?” he asked, ignoring her as well.

“Aaron, please,” Taylor begged, as he pushed past her in the direction of the Unforgiven.

“I just want to see,” he said.

Taylor sighed exasperatedly.

“I wonder where he gets it from?” Vilma asked. “You, or his father?”

“Definitely his father,” Aaron heard his mother say as he rounded a corner, walking into Levi and five other Unforgiven angels, who clustered around a doorway that opened into a stairwell.

“I thought you were going back to the infirmary,” Levi said.

“I got distracted.”

“That seems to be a persistent problem of yours.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Aaron tried to resist the urge to be a wiseass, but failed miserably.

Levi said nothing further, turning back to the metal stairs that led from the main entrance to the many-leveled base below.

Aaron could hear a commotion above, the sounds of multiple footfalls as the Unforgiven sentries returned with their findings.

But there was another sound as well. Aaron found himself moving closer to Levi and the other angels, drawn toward the stairs.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Levi asked.

“Aaron, what are you . . . ?” Vilma began as she and Taylor caught up with him.

“Get him away from there,” Levi commanded. His men rushed forward to grab Aaron’s arms.

“Wait!” Aaron cried, shrugging off the Unforgiven by calling on his wings to push them away. “I know one of them.”

And he was right.

“Gabriel!” he shouted, as the yellow Labrador retriever bounded down the stairs ahead of the others. Aaron could barely contain himself, dropping to his knees as Gabriel leaped on him.

“Aaron!” the dog yelped pathetically. “It’s you! It’s really,
really you!”

Aaron did his best to hug his friend as the dog nearly danced with excitement, his rear claws clicking on the concrete floor. Gabriel frantically licked Aaron’s face, his affection for his boy overwhelming, and Aaron let him, dispensing his own kisses upon the dog’s blocky head.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he told the dog.

“You’re all right,” Gabriel said with relief. “When I last saw you, you were hurt—bad—but you’re all right.”

“How could I be anything but?” Aaron asked him, ruffling his floppy, golden-yellow ears. “I would never leave my best friend.”

“Vilma!” Gabriel suddenly barked, and raced down the hall to bestow the same affections upon her.

Aaron stood to join them, but noticed that Levi and his men remained focused on the figures that had just reached the bottom of the stairs.

Aaron couldn’t help but smile when he saw Dusty, but that smile quickly disappeared when he caught sight of Mallus. The former general in the Morningstar’s army looked as though he had aged a hundred years since Aaron had last seen him.

“What happened?” Aaron asked, looking to Dusty. “And what’s that?” He gestured at the pulsing sphere in Mallus’s hands.

“It couldn’t be,” Levi said, awe in his tone. He stepped
toward Mallus and the glowing sphere.

“If you’re thinking the power of God, then you’re right,” Dusty said.

“The power of . . . ,” Aaron began, but didn’t finish, as Mallus turned his weary eyes to him.

“Are you ready, Aaron Corbet, son of the Morningstar?” he asked. “Are you ready to become the next Metatron?”

*   *   *

Verchiel had never seen a beast like this before.

Its arm lashed out, striking him square in the chest plate and hurling him backward with such force that he smashed through the front of the office building, into the lobby.

Eager to do more damage, the beast lumbered in pursuit. Its body was huge and muscular, its flesh a sickly green. Its head was a mass of writhing tentacles and eyes, and it roared as it came at him.

Finally,
Verchiel thought as he used his wings to push himself up from where he lay.
A foe that just might be worth my time.

His objective was to cause chaos among the various monster armies. He wanted to let them know that he was as strong as, if not stronger than, their mysterious dark lord.

The beast hopped in through the broken window. From the corner of his eye, Verchiel could see the monsters that had become his ragtag army outside, waiting.

Watching.

The green-skinned beast screamed, and Verchiel created a sword of fire from the stuff of Heaven, hefting it above his shoulder as he prepared to swing.

But the beast proved faster. It ducked below his swipe, reaching out with a three-fingered hand to grasp Verchiel’s arm and wrench it savagely to one side.

Verchiel dropped his flaming weapon as the monster yanked him into the air, then whipped him onto the floor. Tiles shattered, and even through his heavenly armor, Verchiel felt the ferocity of the impact.

Before he could get to his feet, the beast grabbed him by the armor and flung him across the lobby.

This time, Verchiel’s fall was cushioned by a large, overstuffed sofa, which tipped over as he landed, spilling him to the floor. As he readied to stand, he could already hear the lumbering footfalls of his opponent, its eager breathing quickened with the potential of victory.

It would be a cold day in Heaven before the likes of something this foul prevailed against a soldier of the Almighty.

Verchiel shot up from the floor, screaming his own battle cry.

The two powerful forces collided and dropped to the ground, landing atop a heavy wooden table and smashing it to splinters under their combined weight.

Verchiel drove his armored fist into the monster’s face, feeling its tentacles spasm as he struck. They wrapped around his hand and forearm, but Verchiel yanked his arm free, tearing
away some of the offending tendrils. The beast cried out in pain.

The rabble outside entered the building, watching the battle eagerly. They had seen this scene repeated hundreds of times already, and always Verchiel had been victorious.

As he would most assuredly be again.

The green-skinned beast grabbled hold of a broken table leg and swung it at the side of Verchiel’s face. The wood connected, nearly knocking his head from his shoulders.

But the angel quickly recovered.

This adversary actually puts up a good fight,
he thought as the beast came at him once more.

It still held the table leg like a club, raising it high. Verchiel summoned another blade of flame and slashed across the beast’s stomach, just above its thick belt of rotting children’s heads, as the table leg came down, grazing his shoulder.

Stepping back, Verchiel watched the beast. It was preparing to attack again, when it stopped short. Its belly had parted like a mouth, vomiting coils of internal workings and stinking liquid on the lobby floor. It let go of the table leg and frantically tried to shove its innards back into the gaping slit.

“A valiant attempt,” the angel said, as the creature withered.

Verchiel was going to be merciful and end the abomination’s life, when he heard a low, tremulous moan.

He looked at his followers and saw that they heard it as
well. Panic started to grip them as the moan gradually became a sound more akin to the blare of a trumpet.

“What is that noise?” Verchiel asked aloud.

The sound frayed his nerves, affecting him in a way that he could not understand, or explain.

“It’s him,” the beast kneeling defeated before him said in a language as horrible-sounding as the creature looked. “He calls to us.”

“Who?” Verchiel asked.

The sound crescendoed like a trumpet fanfare, sending Verchiel’s army of monsters into a frenzy, hands clasped over their ears.

“Who calls to you?” Verchiel demanded.

The thing’s multiple eyes looked toward the ceiling.

“The master of us all,” the creature gurgled. “He summons us. He summons us to him.”

The beast attempted to stand, but slipped on the coil of something that might have been intestine. It fell back, flailing pathetically as it again tried to rise.

Verchiel severed the creature’s head from its muscular body with an offhanded slash of his sword. It would hear nothing anymore.

The sound continued to blare from outside the building. Verchiel strode across the lobby. The monsters that now called him leader no longer had the good sense to move from his path, and he swatted them aside as he passed.

Verchiel stepped out onto the street. The bodies of those that had chosen not to surrender to the angel lay broken and burning about him.

Ergo came to cower at his side.

“It’s some sort of summons,” Verchiel stated.

“Yes,” the goblin confirmed, his ugly face twisted in pain. “A summons to him.”

Verchiel proceeded down the street, stepping over the dead, drawn to the horrible sound. He could sense his army of faithful beasts behind him, following in his wake.

Rounding a corner, Verchiel stopped.

A huge portal of swirling darkness had appeared, and the sound was coming from within.

He watched as random monsters entered the vortex, answering the call of their master.

A strange sensation came over the lower portion of Verchiel’s face. He was smiling.

Turing toward Ergo, he watched the goblin recoil.

“What’s the matter with your face?” the loathsome creature asked.

Verchiel did not answer. Instead he started toward the tunnel of shadow, what remained of his army at his heels.

“Where are you going?” Ergo cried out from behind him.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Verchiel asked. “I’m answering the call. “I don’t want to keep the Darkstar waiting.”

T
he Angels of the Void were terrible and swift.

The four flew into the Nephilim chamber like streaks of black lightning, circling the Custodian, then attacking the ancient sentry in unison.

All Melissa and Cameron could do was watch, as the golden netting continued to drain their strength. Melissa tried to look away, but even the effort of moving her head proved to be too much.

The Void Angels were like feral cats, playing with their prey. Each took a turn attacking with razor-sharp claws.

“What manner of foul things are you?” the ancient warrior cried out, blocking a slash from one of the Void Angel’s claws.

Melissa knew that the Custodian wore armor, but something roiling in the pit of her belly told her that it would be little defense against these angels.

“They’re Nephilim,” she managed to cry out. “Nephilim that were brought back from the dead.”

“Shhhhh!” one of the angels hissed, and held a long, hooked claw up to its helmet where a mouth should have been. The face mask melted away to reveal a smiling Samantha. “You’ll give all our secrets away.”

And with that, she spun and leaped, her black wings carrying her up and over the Custodian, who was distracted by the other three.

“Watch out!” Cameron screamed, making a pathetic attempt to thrash against the netting.

Samantha proved Melissa’s suspicions correct, as the Void Angel’s claws tore through the Custodian’s armor, shredding it like paper, and slicing into his shoulder.

The old angel yelled and shifted his attention from the three he fought to Samantha flying above him.

Not good. Not good at all.

The three terrible creatures moved as one. They darted in and out, cutting through the ancient angel’s dull golden armor, even as he swung his mighty sword of fire.

The Void Angels evaded the crackling blade, laughing, and continuing their attack.

The others had dropped their face masks now, revealing their pasty white visages, as if wanting to show the old sentry what was about to end his life.

“Your blood is old,” Kirk said, licking the tips of his claws
with a gray, sluglike tongue. “But it is filled with the power of the divine. Delicious.”

Melissa watched in horror, then suddenly realized that Janice was not with the others. It gave her a spark of hope that they had been responsible for her defeat.

A spark of hope.

But sometimes that was all it took to build a raging fire.

The Custodian was hurt, his armor torn and the angelic flesh beneath bleeding. The Void Angels were circling him again, and he slowly turned as they did, his sword at the ready.

Melissa willed him to look at her, hoping to share her spark with him, perhaps to reignite the smoldering core of his being. Their eyes locked, and although they did not speak, Melissa sensed that he understood.